This poem is apart of a four-part poem. Don't worry, I'll post it all within these next two weeks. I haven't named it yet, but I think it speaks for itself, even without a name And also,parts of this poem are fictional, and no, I don't slit my wrists.
Woke up this morning
Realized that we're all growing old
And that we're all going to die.
Don't know why life is worth the pain
When it could all be gone with a silver blade
It calls to me sometimes
Telling me "I can make it all fine."
Whispering in my ear
"Come."
A blade to my wrist
Blood flowing down my arms
Crimson red in the sink
A wave of relief
Content once again.
It's very disturbing but calming at the same time.... damn poetry
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